This Poem is made by me... Dont laugh at it, it is supposed to be random
I Hate Poetry,[LK1] What is the reason for it being here? Don’t people have better things to do with their time? Why sit and rhyme words together when you can be doing something productive like work? The only way I would find poetry amusing is if someone would figure something that rhymes with orange. To that I would say good luck.
You’re going to need a lot of luck, Because in poetry, Nothing rhymes with orange No matter where you put in the sentence, over there or right here, You just can’t get it to rhyme. Why has no one gotten it to work? Because no one has the time.
Well, now it’s time. It’s time to figure out what rhymes with orange. So wish me luck. I already have an idea; I came up with it just now. I hope it works. If it does, this will be a new milestone in the history of poetry. I thought of it right now right here. Smorange…[LK2] That rhymes with Orange.
Smorange…………and… Orange Sure it’s not perfect, or even a real word, but it works… Time! I know I just put the word time there randomly but who cares. There is no rule against it if I wanted, I could put it here. But I won’t, However, I will put a random word here… Luck! I can put any word anywhere I want. This is poetry. There are no rules to what I can do. It doesn’t need to rhyme or overall even work.
Why doesn’t it have to work? If you are stupid enough to ask that question… then you are the world’s worst listener. Now back to the rhyming of the word orange In poetry, if I want smorange to be a word to rhyme with orange, nothing is stopping me. Thank you poetry. If you’re reading this then congratulations, you just wasted about 30 seconds of your time. The fact that you are still reading this is just sad. You are so unlucky to have such time to read this poem. Sooo unlucky Here, let me make this less boring. Take a pen and circle the word here at the end of this line, you will get a special prize… HERE
Congratulations, you got a special surprise, the poem now has a red circle on it. Want to make another one? Circle HERE. So remember, in poetry, anything works Do whatever you want, I just hope you have better luck. And also remember, Smorange is now a word to rhyme with orange Now stop wasting your time, And go write poetry
Here is an orange Not really, but remember, work hard, be random, don’t waste time. Good luck, now go write poetry.
The way the line breaks in the poem add meaning is because if you notice, there is a punctuation mark/ comma at the end of each line. The reason is that I didn’t want people to rush through the line breaks but instead slow down and read the poem thoroughly. The reason for that is because the slower they read the poem, the more time they waste which is one of the overall jokes at the end.
A word that is very unusual but works in the poem.
This word helps bring meaning to my poem because it adds the real start to the more random part of the poem. It does this by being funny, which was the overall goal I was trying to accomplish when writing this poem. Smorange, doesn’t it just make you chuckle even thinking about it.
Lars ,[LK1] Architect Ready, set,… wait what, Sorry I blanked out. Swedish
Krazy Rats are awesome. (Pet rats) Underappreciated… JK Uhh[LK2] ! Is this poem over yet? Suckish poem writer
The reason for this adding meaning is that while in usual cases at the end of each poem it would say by …. And so assuming that, the reader would be able to figure out that the author, in this case me, am describing myself by making the first word in this poem my own name.
This adds meaning to the poem because first of all its humorous and second of all it lets the reader know to what extent I hate poetry, so much so that I could groan with boredom.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time[LK1] ; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime[LK2] ... Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
In this case, what is happening is the soldiers are trying to get gas masks on before dying. This adds meaning to the poem because it shows you how scared these soldiers were of the gas based on how quickly they got them on.
I Hate Poetry,[LK1]
What is the reason for it being here?
Don’t people have better things to do with their time?
Why sit and rhyme words together when you can be doing something productive like work?
The only way I would find poetry amusing is if someone would figure something that rhymes with orange.
To that I would say good luck.
You’re going to need a lot of luck,
Because in poetry,
Nothing rhymes with orange
No matter where you put in the sentence, over there or right here,
You just can’t get it to rhyme. Why has no one gotten it to work?
Because no one has the time.
Well, now it’s time.
It’s time to figure out what rhymes with orange. So wish me luck.
I already have an idea; I came up with it just now. I hope it works.
If it does, this will be a new milestone in the history of poetry.
I thought of it right now right here.
Smorange…[LK2] That rhymes with Orange.
Smorange…………and… Orange
Sure it’s not perfect, or even a real word, but it works… Time!
I know I just put the word time there randomly but who cares. There is no rule against it if I wanted, I could put it here.
But I won’t, However, I will put a random word here… Luck!
I can put any word anywhere I want. This is poetry.
There are no rules to what I can do. It doesn’t need to rhyme or overall even work.
Why doesn’t it have to work?
If you are stupid enough to ask that question… then you are the world’s worst listener. Now back to the rhyming of the word orange
In poetry, if I want smorange to be a word to rhyme with orange, nothing is stopping me. Thank you poetry.
If you’re reading this then congratulations, you just wasted about 30 seconds of your time.
The fact that you are still reading this is just sad. You are so unlucky to have such time to read this poem. Sooo unlucky
Here, let me make this less boring. Take a pen and circle the word here at the end of this line, you will get a special prize… HERE
Congratulations, you got a special surprise, the poem now has a red circle on it. Want to make another one? Circle HERE.
So remember, in poetry, anything works
Do whatever you want, I just hope you have better luck.
And also remember, Smorange is now a word to rhyme with orange
Now stop wasting your time,
And go write poetry
Here is an orange
Not really, but remember, work hard, be random, don’t waste time.
Good luck, now go write poetry.
Lars ,[LK1]
Architect
Ready, set,… wait what, Sorry I blanked out.
Swedish
Krazy
Rats are awesome. (Pet rats)
Underappreciated… JK
Uhh[LK2] ! Is this poem over yet?
Suckish poem writer
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time[LK1] ;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime[LK2] ...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori: It's sweet and delicious to die for ones country.
.
Poem recesitation
Machines By Michael Donaghy
Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer’s twelve-speed bike.
The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell’s chords are played away.
So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante’s heaven, and melt into the air.
If it doesn’t, of course, I’ve fallen. So much is chance,
So much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove
Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.